Life is a Mystery Love is a Gift
by vjs2259
Summary: A gapfiller, leading up to 'And the Rock Cried Out' end of S3. Written for Valentine's Day 2012. Sheridan is distracted and confused by mysterious gifts.
1. A Study in Scarlet

**Part One: A Study in Scarlet**

Captain John Sheridan walked slowly down the corridor towards his quarters. It had been another insanely long day, lasting long into the night. There was always so much left to do; the minutiae of running the station, commanding the Rangers, keeping the League in line, and the war. The damn war, which was like no other war he'd ever fought or studied or heard of. He had ideas, sure he did. But what did it matter when he couldn't understand what lay behind the whole thing? What did the Shadows want? And how could he fight them if he couldn't figure that out?

He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked; the stress was getting to him. He really needed to get down to the gym. Right now he was just looking forward to a few hours of down-time. His walk slowed almost to a stop when he saw the package outside his door. It was a basket of some kind, small, the size of two cupped hands, wreathed in red silk, and tied at the top with a silver string. Briefly he wondered if he should call Security, but finally he just walked up the door, leaned over, and picked it up. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of Garibaldi's men keeping him up with questions. If it was a bomb, let it blow. He was too tired to care.

Inside his quarters he set his care package on the kitchen counter without opening it, and headed for the shower. Some hot water sluicing down his back might loosen up his muscles and maybe also his thought processes. Afterwards, while towelling his hair dry, he paused to examine his face in the mirror. Eyes blood-shot from lack of sleep looked back at him, situated above an unprofessional amount of stubble dotting cheeks and chin. He'd shave tomorrow. His hair was getting shaggy too; it hadn't been this long since his pre-Academy days.

Coming out of the bathroom, now wearing grey sweats and pulling a loosely fitting black sweater made of soft wool over his head, he heard the com-unit beeping the C&C signal. John poured a glass of water, and eyed his mysterious gift. 'Play message', he said as he untied the string. A recorded Ivanova, grimly professional, appeared on the monitor, asking him to call in to C&C as soon as he got the message. Pausing in the opening of his gift, he touched the command center's direct call sigil on the screen and heard the computer reply 'Connecting...'

As he awaited to hear whatever problem had come up, he got the basket loose from its scarlet wrapping. It was white, formed from woven grasses or reeds of some kind, and filled with red berries, shiny and dark like pomegranate seeds, but a little larger. "What the hell?" he said, just as Ivanova appeared on the screen.

"Captain, we've got a serious maintenance problem in Bays 7 thru 15. Parts are completely unavailable and we won't be able to dock ships there until..." her voice broke off. "What is that?" she said, her voice quavering a bit with what might have been laughter or surprise John wasn't sure which.

"I found it outside my door," he answered absently, looking all around the basket for a note. He looked up at Ivanova, but her lips were clamped shut. "You think they're poisonous?" he said, deliberately popping one in his mouth.

She shook her head. "Probably not. Definitely not," she went on, "since you're not throwing up or writhing in pain." Cocking her head, she added, "Could be a slow-acting poison of course. What do you want to do about the repairs?"

"See what you can get on the black market and patch up the rest," he said. "Cannibalize the other bays if you have to to get the maximum number of them operational. What did you expect me to say?" he grumbled. "These are pretty good," he remarked as he picked up another handful, tossing them one a time and catching them in mid-air.

Ivanova started to say something, then stopped with a choking sound like suppressed laughter. Clearing her throat, she finally said, "Do you have a secret admirer?"

John shook his head. "Not a chance. Just somebody thanking me for something I guess. Whatever. Makes a change from the usual brickbats and abuse."

"I'll get to work on the bays," Susan replied. "Get some sleep," she added sternly.

"Will do," replied John, signing off.

The next few days were punctuated with more strange gifts of uncertain origin. Before a council meeting he found a set of twined red plaits arranged on the seat of his chair. Londo, resplendent in his black dress uniform, had been in the room, glowering at him as he made his usual litany of demands. The Centauri had stopped short his tirade as he eyed the silky ropes John had held up in surprise. "Someone likes you, Captain!" he announced, suddenly jovial. "Those are Centauri love braids. A serious gift, meant for a lover!" He leaned over towards John, leering in his face, "Who is the lucky female?"

John kept his temper, although he was not sure how. Sweeping up the ribbons he stuffed them in the pants pocket of his uniform. "A joke of some kind," he muttered, but his mind was racing. When Delenn entered the room, he couldn't help flushing at the sudden hope that rose in his mind. But her reactions were the same as usual, friendly, more than friendly, but diplomatically subtle. She looked him in the eye without hesitance, eyes wide and innocent, without any sign of guilt or question, even when he noticed the scarlet fringe peeking out of his pocket and quickly jammed it back down.

Later that same evening, he stopped at a bar in the Zocalo for a drink. Non-alcoholic unfortunately, but he couldn't afford the blur of inebriation with more work yet to finish. The bartender put a tall flute in front of him, filled to the top with a deep red liquid topped with golden foam, and left to attend another customer. "I didn't order this," he said in annoyance, while trying to flag down the man and return the drink.

G'Kar was sitting a few stools down and rose to move over and join him. "That is sorl," he pronounced after sniffing the foam. "Excellent! Who is to enjoy the mating ritual with you tonight?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"What?" said John in confusion, looking from G'Kar to the bartender to the drink in rapid sequence.

"It is tradition! On Narn, sorl is an aphrodisiac. Favored by females for its...invigorating effect on the male." G'Kar explained with a smile.

Lately G'Kar had been so solemn. John thought it was nice to see him smile, even if the sharp teeth exposed in the facial gesture looked slightly predatory.

Two women who looked like off-duty exotic dancers walked by. John wondered where in DownBelow they worked. Maybe he should have that investigated. Maybe he should investigate it himself. One of them stared pointedly at G'Kar, and then she touched her friend's arm and they stopped to look in a shop window, glancing back over their shoulders.

G'Kar's smile widened. "All work and no play..." He looked at the Captain, and said, "If you're not going to need that..."

John sputtered and said, "I don't need...it's not like that...oh hell. Take it," he said gloomily. "Might as well put it to use."

G'Kar nodded pleasantly and downed the sorl in one gulp. "Ah," he said. "If you'll excuse me?" Then he strode off into the crowd. The women fell into step with him, one on each side, snaking their arms through his.

John watched him go with some frustration. He wished he did have a use for the stuff. Who was arranging all this? He gestured towards the bartender and ordered his orange juice, again. The man when questioned would only say 'some kind of nun' had bought the drink and asked it be delivered to the Captain. John shook his head. The mystery was only getting deeper. Draining his juice in one swallow, he paid the bill and left the bar, whistling slightly under his breath as he tried to work out the puzzle.


	2. The Woman in White

**Part Two: The Woman in White**

After the Executive Staff meeting, only John and Susan remained in the small office off the War Room. John had pulled out a folded paper from under the work files and smoothed it open, closely examining the criss-cross of pencil marks that covered it.

"What's that?" asked Susan as she stood next to him neatly filing away her own work. Her pile was only a little higher than the one John had shoved aside to make room for his spreadsheet.

"It's a schedule," John said. He looked up at her and grinned. "Those little gifts I've been getting? I'm trying to work out who's been leaving them."

Susan continued her tidying, glancing at the sheet with mild curiosity. There was a schematic of the station just above the tables. "Could be anyone." The number of red x's turned her tone sharply professional. "How many of these gifts have there been?" she asked abruptly.

John laughed, and then stopped abruptly at the unfamilar sound. How long had it been since he'd laughed out loud? Smiling ruefully at Susan's startled expression, he continued, pointing at the paper. "The thing is, it's not a civilian or a tourist or a businessman. Whoever it is has access to the secure conference rooms and to the command levels of the station, including staff quarters." 

Susan leaned over and squinted in an attempt to decipher what resembled fractal chicken scratches. "Security? They'd have access. I suppose you've checked Garibaldi's whereabouts. It sounds like one of his schemes."

"One of my first choices, but no, he's clear." John looked at her puzzled and concerned face and explained, "It's just something else to think about...something that won't affect the fate of the whole damn galaxy."

Susan nodded. "That's a good thing. I suppose." She cleared her throat and suggested hesitantly, "Ambassadorial staff have access to the level with our quarters."

John's face turned red. "Londo and G'Kar were with me in two instances, and I'd swear they had no idea what was going on." He shrugged and continued, "And the Vorlons don't have much to do with me these days."

Susan's eyebrow crept ever upward as she waited for his next inevitable statement.

"Of course there's Delenn," he managed to get out, stumbling over the name as he strove for nonchalance. "But it's not her."

"Why not?" asked Susan.

John looked at his second suspiciously. Susan's tone was bland and non-committal. She knew something about this, and she wasn't telling. "It's not Delenn's style. At least," he said honestly, "I don't think it is. And besides, at least two of them were, um, tokens of, uh, affection." He mumbled the last, almost hoping Susan had not heard. "They're all from different cultures, as far as I can tell."

Susan said carefully, "I think maybe we'd better request a Security detail for you. You might be looking at a stalker, and they can be dangerous."

John shook his head, and said emphatically, "No, it doesn't feel threatening. Just mysterious. Intriguing even."

Susan smiled faintly, "I'm sure it's a nice distraction for you. Keep me informed, okay?" She stood and collected her paperwork, tucking it under one arm. "I'll see you later in C&C?"

"I'll be there to relieve you this afternoon," he said absently, his attention pulled back to the creased paper spread out in front of him. At the sound of the door closing behind her, he grimaced. _She'll be on to Garibaldi about that detail before she gets to the end of the corridor. _He shrugged; it was only to be expected. He'd have done the same thing in her place.

John made it back to C&C a little later than he'd meant to, but Ivanova just handed him a stack of manifests to sign, and announced she was leaving for an early evening meal and some sleep. After working his way through the docking manifests, and noting with pleasure that his able second had managed to get all of the malfunctioning bays largely functional, he wandered over to the main port to lose himself in the stars.

The crew present in C&C was dwindling as the shift changed. The few evening shift officers who had arrived were engrossed in going over the day shift's reports. John was still absorbed in the view when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Whirling around, he saw only his people at their work, studying their screens and going over the list of ships in dock, those expected to arrive and those expected to leave during their upcoming shift. It was quieter at night, but cargo and people still came and went. Turning back to the view, he saw a vague reflection, a figure in white just exiting the command deck. _Great_, he thought, _now he was seeing things_.

Returning to the small area that served as his desk, he saw a scarlet rose carefully draped across his tablet. Picking it up he examined it closely. It was either real or the best synthetic he'd ever seen. He discreetly glanced around the room, but no one was even looking in his direction. Leaving the floral tribute behind on the desk, he walked over to the duty officer, who was standing in front of the main monitoring station. John said, "Could you check the entry records? Who's come and gone from C&C in the last, oh, thirty minutes?"

The young woman touched several tabs on the screen in quick succession, and shook her head. "Since you arrived, Captain, four crew members including myself, reported for duty. Commander Ivanova and the six daytime staff have left. That's all. Were you expecting someone?" she asked. "I can page their link and get them up here for you."

"No, no," replied John, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's fine." He stared at the log entries on the screen. Abruptly he announced, "I have to check something down in MedLab. You're in charge, Lieutenant."

John was halfway to MedLab before he remembered that Stephen was no longer there. Slowing his stride to a slow walk, he considered the wisdom of confiding in Dr. Hobbes. Maybe it would be better to get an objective opinion of his recent apparent hallucination, but what he really wanted was to talk to a friend. Slowing down even more, he turned that idea over in his mind. Those who knew as much as he did about ongoing events he could count on the fingers of one hand. Between the various conspiracies and secrets, he had almost run out of people it was safe to talk to. Used as he was to the loneliness of command, there had always been one or two people he could confide in. There had been Anna. Now there was no one, or no one who wasn't already overburdened with work and worries of her own.

John sighed and turned his steps back towards C&C and his duty. Taking his turn on the deck both encouraged the people under him, and gave Ivanova a much-needed break. Susan would run the whole station for him if he let her, but he wouldn't risk her cracking under the strain. His crew were all good people, but this waiting war was difficult on everyone, military and civilian alike. All his concerns came flooding back and his shoulders tensed as his mind started going over and over the strategic problems that filled his thoughts, both day and night. Muttering to himself as he walked, he gradually became aware of a person at the far end of the corridor, a delicate figure clothed all in filmy white from head to toe. It turned the corner ahead of him and he broke into a trot, determined to catch whoever it was and get an explanation. Quickening his pace he turned the corner and slammed straight into Michael Garibaldi.

"Whoa there, Captain! Where are you going in such a hurry?" Garibaldi craned his neck to look past John, as if to determine the presence of any threat pursuing the Captain.

John meanwhile was staring at the empty corridor beyond Garibaldi. "I saw someone...a woman I think. Where'd she go?" he demanded of his Security chief.

Garibaldi shook his head. "Nobody there, John. At least I didn't see anyone. Maybe they ducked into one of the rooms?" He snapped the catch on his holster making his gun accessible and then started to hit the contact button on his comlink while saying, "I'll get somebody up here to do a sweep. First let me check if any of these rooms are occupied, mostly offices and conference rooms anyway..." He broke off as John shook his head.

"No, it's not important," declared John. "I guess I'm just a little tired."

"No kidding," said Garibaldi,lowering his hand to rest lightly on the hilt of his weapon. His tone was a mix of sarcasm and concern. "The way things are going around here I'm surprised we're not all seeing things," he added lightly.

"I'm not the sort of person who sees things that aren't there," John protested.

Garibaldi looked at him thoughtfully, "No you're not. But maybe you're the kind of guy who doesn't see things that are there." He crossed his arms and regarded John. "Captain, there are lots of people involved in this dust-up. People want to help. I've been sending telepaths off to warships half the day; all sorts of races, people who don't even really understand what's going on but just want to do the right thing. There are folks all around you who want to help. You just have to reach out and accept it."

John's face closed down. "It's not that easy," he said through tight lips. "It's not fair to shift your burdens to other people."

"Life's not fair," retorted Garibaldi, "And I bet you already knew that. And it's not called shifting, it's called sharing. Look, you want me to chase down this mysterious female for you?"

"No," said John, shaking his head to emphasize the point. "I've been chasing ghosts long enough. Time to get back to the job." He walked off towards C&C, fatigue and resurgent worry dogging his steps.


	3. The TellTale Heart

**Part Three: The Tell Tale Heart**

"You two are crazy." Michael was standing just inside the doorway of Susan's quarters, leaning against a convenient wall, his arms crossed tight across his chest and his eyes snapping with frustration. "The Captain's worse off than before."

Susan was sitting on the couch, one leg extended across the cushions. The other rested on the floor, and her foot tapped impatiently against the hard surface. "We tried, and apparently we failed. It did work for a while," she said, turning her head to look at the third member of the conspiracy, who was seated in a deep armchair, white robes gleaming against the soft dark blue fabric.

Delenn pushed back the hood of her robe and said calmly, "I believe it did. For a little while." She smiled at Susan and Michael. "It was good of you two to share your concerns with me. John is lucky to have such friends."

Susan made a face. "Lucky to have friends who tiptoe around a problem, playing tricks on you to get you to relax a little? I'm with Garibaldi, as ideas go, this was nuts." Favoring Delenn with one of her hard stares, she asked, ""How the hell did you get in and out of C&C with no record of your ever being there?"

Delenn evaded Susan's demanding gaze and instead directed her reply to Michael. "I had no idea there were so many hidden access points in the station corridors." A smile flashed across her face before she added delicately, "It must make your job more difficult."

Michael cleared his throat in seeming embarrassment, his eyes looking everywhere but at Susan, who was now openly glaring at him. "Not many people know about them, and that's the way I like it. Well, I guess that's it then. The Captain's lost interest in the whole thing. He's back to obsessing over the war, wound up just as tight as before. Only now he's half-convinced he's having hallucinations." Michael edged towards the doorway, hitting the release with his palm as he did so. "So you two go ahead and try something else if you want to, but count me out of any future plans. Now, I have to relieve Zach down in Ops. Good night, Susan, Delenn." He sketched a nod in both their general directions and fled.

Susan swirled some clear liquid in the crystal glass she held in her right hand and then took a sip. Looking over the rim at Delenn, she asked, "What in the world made you choose those items to put in John's path?" Holding up one hand to forestall explanation, she continued, "Did you think I wouldn't recognize those red berries from that ceremony a couple of years ago?" Shaking her head, Susan scolded her friend. "Jeff found out what they were from Catherine and told me. And I looked up the other things too." She took another drink, muttering, "Centauri love braids, my...What message were you trying to send, as if I couldn't guess?"

"The sennk'ai duma have many purposes in Minbari rituals, and I do not suppose Catherine Sakai was well versed in all of their potential applications," interrupted Delenn, her eyes flashing momentarily. At Susan's raised eyebrow, she sighed, blushing. "I thought if he discovered I was behind the mystery he would not mind so much. Not if the items were...emotionally appropriate." Hesitantly, she confessed, "I think I was attempting to...what is the expression? Catch two birds with one net?"

Susan bit her lip and remained silent for a moment. "We wanted to give John something else to think about," she finally replied. "But maybe what he really needs is someone to talk to. He mostly sticks to station routine and fleet logistics with me. What do you two talk about when you're alone these days?"

"The war," Delenn replied dejectedly. She shook her head. "He talks, and thinks, of little else. I cannot help him with his burden; he will not permit it. Indeed, he avoids our being alone together, except as necessary to fulfill our joint responsibilities. I think he is protecting me." For a moment, a gleam of amusement showed through her concern. "The thought is somewhat pleasing, although such protection is of course unnecessary."

"Of course," replied Susan, stopping short of rolling her eyes. Putting both feet on the floor, and setting her glass down on the coffee table, she declaimed. "Why don't you take the bull by the horns?" She watched Delenn's mouth fall open with some satisfaction. "Go ahead-put your money where your mouth is! Jump in with both feet!" Frustrated and also amused, Susan finally relented at her friend's growing dismay. "I mean, confront John directly." Striving to avoid further confusion, Susan added, "Tell him you want, no you _need_, to help him. That it's what lovers do. Support each other." Stifling a grin, she ended with, "You could ask him what his intentions are. That'd distract him."

"Lovers," Delenn repeated in a small voice. Her cheeks were aflame. "Is that what we are?" Her voice was low and hard to hear. "And what do you mean by intentions...his intentions? Towards me?"

"Ye-e-ss," drawled Susan in reply. "John's intentions towards you. And yes, lovers. For God's sake, Delenn, it's written all over your face! All over both your faces!" She leaned back against the couch and put her hands behind her head. "There's a time-honored method for distracting men, and it works especially well for those who are head over heels in love already."

Delenn blinked, then opened her eyes wide as she took in the implication. "Susan!" she exclaimed. "John and I...we have not yet reached the level of intimacy required for the initiation of physical interaction."

"No?" queried Susan. "What about that time I interrupted you two in his quarters? You remember, when I called to notify him about Vir's little masquerade?" She almost stopped at Delenn's expression of mortification. "Something was about to happen between you two or I'll eat my hat."

"You do not wear a hat," remarked Delenn faintly. "Though I have seen Mr. Garibaldi wearing a hat..." She cut herself off and straightened her back, bringing herself stiffly upright. "That was different. John had been injured, and I only meant to help." She stopped, flustered, then began again, "Well, I may have had...I can see why you might have thought..." Susan began to laugh and Delenn finally gave in and joined her, admitting, "You are correct. My intentions were not completely in line with my traditions at that point."

"Exactly," said Susan smugly. "No one's saying you have to jump the guy's bones in the War Room, but some concrete indication of the depth of your feelings might not come amiss. Something more than cultural hints and mysterious gifts. You need to surprise him, shake him out of this obsessive focus on strategy." Susan picked up the glass, remnants of ice clinking against the sides. She held it against her forehead, letting the cold drops of condensation dampen her skin and the few strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "This whole thing is giving me a headache. I am so tired of his carrying on cranky like this." She snorted. "He's probably just hungry. I don't think he eats, or even sleeps any more. The delegation from Earth arrives tomorrow; maybe they'll have some news from home. It's not likely to be good news, but it's something else to think about besides the fleet and the Shadows." Susan drained her glass and set it down. "They sent a message ahead via Theo; two of them want a separate, and discreet, meeting with the Captain."

Delenn seemed pleased by this announcement. "Perhaps there is something I can do there." Leaning forward, her hands clasping her knees, she said, "Tell them the meeting will be over dinner. I will arrange it. At least John will have to eat, and it will take him away from the War Room."

"I'll let them know as soon as they arrive," said Susan. Curious, she asked, "How do you plan to get him to come?

Delenn favored her with an enigmatic smile. "Do not worry. I will make certain of his attendance." Talking quietly, almost to herself, she added, "It is almost time." In her normal voice, she confided, "I have heard your people say that love is a gift. I will give John a gift...not like the mysterious tokens before. A gift of hope, the gift of a fighting chance. It will be a surprise, and perhaps that will help him more than this game we have been playing."

Susan regarded her sharply, then shook her head. "You're not going to tell me what you're talking about, are you?"

"No," replied Delenn, eyes alight with plans and dreams. "I am not." She leaned forward and patted Susan's knee. "But I thank you. For your assistance, for your advice...and also for the further lessons in your language. I may go ahead and, as you say, take the bull by its horns."

Susan laughed. "The original proverb is something like 'take a bull by the horn and a man at his word.' And it's true, when John Sheridan says something, he means it through and through. But it's not the spoken word you need lessons in...body language can be just as confusing with different races. It's even confusing within a race, especially between male and female."

Delenn looked struck by this. "It is true that John is a man of few words." Lost in thought, she rose, and removed the white outer robe that covered her normal bright clothing. She folded the material into a neat square in preparation for departure. Standing, she accompanied Susan to the door, the robe draped over one arm. Turning to her friend, she made her farewells, adding a query, "What is said without words may convey a deeper layer of meaning, is that true of your people? It is true of mine, for all that we try to codify and qualify meaning by use of ritual."

Susan put her hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples with thumb and forefinger. "Actions speak louder than words, I think that's the saying you're looking for." She summoned up a smile. "Sometimes we humans say it best when we say nothing at all. Good night, Delenn." As the door closed, she added, "And good luck."


End file.
